The Follies of the King Read online

  ‘It will not be easy to bring about his banishment,’ she told her brothers-in-law.

  ‘It should be done,’ replied Kent.

  ‘The King would fight to the death to save them,’ said Isabella.

  ‘Still,’ repeated Kent steadily, ‘it should be done.’

  It was an indication of the way people were thinking and of great gratification to Isabella.

  She was desperately looking for an opportunity which would take her to France where she could rejoin Mortimer.

  Although the Despensers seemed at times to rush madly down that path of folly which had led Gaveston to disaster, they were shrewd. They had noticed a change in the Queen’s attitude towards the King. They had been well aware that she previously tolerated them and had received the King for the sole reason of getting children. They understood that now she had four she had decided that was the end.

  This was reasonable enough but she was turning more and more against the King— a fact which would have been no cause for concern but for the popularity she enjoyed with certain people.

  The chief of these were the Londoners who had always favoured her and had particularly disliked the King’s handsome young men. The Londoners were at this time annoyed with the King because he had removed a plaque from St Paul’s which had been set up to applaud the good deeds of Thomas Earl of Lancaster. Since he was dead— and had died so ignobly ― they had decided to make a saint of him. They forgot his indolence and incompetence; they endowed him with virtues he had not possessed; they were constantly telling each other that if he were there life would be different. It was dangerous and particularly so when miracles were said to take place at that spot where the plaque had been as well as at Lancaster’s tomb. It was a sign of the times.

  Their chief cause for concern was Isabella.

  ‘Everywhere the Queen goes the people cheer,’ complained Hugh.

  ‘They have always thought very highly of her,’ replied Edward.

  ‘Yes, at your expense! I like that not.’

  ‘Dear Hugh, you are too mindful of me.’

  ‘And should I not be of my liege lord?’

  ‘There, I have made you scarlet with indignation.’

  ‘Indeed I am indignant at anything which bodes ill for my lord.’

  ‘What bodes ill now, dear nephew?’

  Edward had taken to calling Hugh nephew. He said it was a pleasant relationship and some people would take it from the name that he regarded Hugh in that light.

  ‘The Queen, I think, my lord.’

  ‘The Queen! In what way?’

  ‘She is restive. She is jealous of me. She sees too many people.’

  ‘What should we do? You tell me, Hugh.’

  ‘Let us consider her.’

  ‘Do so, Hugh.’

  ‘Her brother is the King of France and she writes frequently to him. There are complaints in her letters of your treatment of her.’

  Edward shrugged his shoulders. ‘I doubt her brother has time for her gossip.’

  ‘The King of France would always have time to hear evil spoken of the King of England.’

  ‘She speaks no evil. She merely complains that I spend more time with you than with her. Well, I do not intend to spend more time with her if it means missing your company.’

  ‘I know it and rejoice in it. I wonder whether the Pope would grant an annulment.’

  ‘An annulment! And she the sister of the King of France.’

  ‘No, he would be afraid of France. He would never grant it. But we might try.’

  ‘It would have to be in secret.’

  ‘It would be. But I believe you should take over some of her lands. She is very well endowed.’

  Edward nodded. ‘Then let it be done.’

  ‘It is unwise that she should keep her French servants. How can we know that these may not be spies for France?’ ‘What would you suggest?’

  ‘That they be sent away. Her allowance should be cut to twenty shillings a day and that is enough for her. With more she might use it to make mischief. I believe she is in correspondence with someone in France.’

  ‘She writes now and then to her brother I know.’

  ‘Yes― and maybe others.’

  ‘What mean you, Hugh?’

  ‘I am not sure, but for your sake, I should like to put a watch on her.’

  ‘A watch, dear boy?’

  ‘I thought my wife might be her― what shall we call it― keeper of the household. She will be able to report to us what is going on there.’

  ‘Would she undertake such a task?’

  ‘She would if she were told to.’

  Hugh’s wife was the daughter of the Earl of Gloucester and the Princess Joanna, daughter of Edward the First and therefore Edward’s niece. Hugh had already come into his share of the Gloucester estate through her, so he was pleased with his marriage. Whether Eleanor le Despenser was as gratified with it was another matter.

  However she could be made to act as keeper of the household for Isabella and report where her correspondence went.

  So it was arranged.

  The indignation of the Queen when she realized what was happening was great; but much to the surprise of those about her she made little complaint. She was biding her time. Soon she would be the one to call the tune.

  * * *

  How maddening it was that she should be submitted to such indignity. The King’s niece to be her guardian— that foolish little creature who was afraid of her mincing husband! How dared she! And yet of course the poor little thing was afraid to do otherwise. She had an idea that the silly girl tried to take her letters and give them to her spying husband. Did she think Isabella would be such a fool as to allow her to do that? Did she think she had not friends who would take what she wrote in secret and deliver it unopened to its destination?

  Charles, the last of her three brothers, was now the King of France. He was known as Charles the Fair having inherited the good looks of his father Philip IV. It was said that he was doomed as were all the descendants of the direct line of the Capets and really it seemed that the curse was working. First her father, then Louis le Hutin, then Philip the Tall and the only one who was left was Charles.

  He still lived but like the people of France she was ready to hear that some catastrophe had overtaken him.

  She wrote fiercely to him, letters which were for his eyes alone. Could he stand by and see his sister— a Princess of France— treated thus? He already knew— the whole world knew that her husband preferred the couch of his chamberlain to hers. Her husband was a miser. He had robbed her of lands and possessions; he had ordered that she should receive a pittance. He was depriving her not only of her status as a Queen but of everything she possessed. The greatest indignity of all had been to set a keeper of the household over her. A woman who— poor creature― had been married as a child to Despenser on account of her fortune. This woman’s task was to spy on her, to steal her letters, to treat her as a prisoner. Could he, her brother and King of France stand by and see this happen to a member of the great royal family of France?

  Charles le Bel decided that he could pacify his sister by reminding Edward that he owed him personal homage for the provinces he held in France and he considered it the duty of the King of England to come to France and do his duty.

  ‘Depend upon it,’ said Hugh le Despenser, ‘the Queen has stirred up trouble.

  Letters from her have got through to the King of France and this is the result.

  Let your young half-brother Edmund go to France. It will keep him out of mischief. He can explain to Charles le Bel that you are too engrossed in matters of state here to make the journey just yet.’

  Edward always made a point of taking Hugh’s advice and Edmund Earl of Kent was sent to France.

  Charles received the Earl with a show of hospitality and gave some magnificent entertainments in his honour.

  The young Earl was no match for the King of France. Moreover, while Kent was on
a visit to Aquitaine, Charles de Valois, younger brother of Philip the Fair and uncle of the King, invaded the Duchy and so successful was he that the earl was forced to agree to a peace which was greatly to his disadvantage and gave the French possession of almost the whole of Aquitaine.

  Isabella watched these events very closely and believed that she saw through them the chance she had been waiting for.

  Humbly, she sent word to Edward asking if she might see him. He could scarcely refuse such a request and he was surprised to see how meekly she came.

  Hugh was wise as usual, he thought. They were treating her in the right manner.

  She made no reference to his neglect of her. She came straight to the point and said how grieved she was to see the conflict between him and her brother.

  She could not understand what her uncle was thinking of to attack Aquitaine so villainously.

  ‘The French have always been after it,’ said Edward. ‘I’m afraid my brother Kent was not experienced enough to handle the situation.’

  ‘Poor Edmund, he did his best.’

  ‘His best was poor statecraft,’ said Edward.

  She wanted to laugh. And you, my fine man, she thought, what of your statecraft? Edmund’s ineptitude is nothing when compared with yours!

  ‘My brothers were always fond of me,’ she went on. ‘Edward, I believe that if I went to Charles I could put your case to him. I believe I could make him see reason. Perhaps I could bring my uncle to reconsider the treaty. It would please me to try.’

  ‘ You go? That would be useless. They would never listen to you.’

  ‘I was always treated with great respect in my father’s court,’ she said with pointed dignity. ‘I doubt I should receive anything less in my brother’s.’

  Edward looked at her thoughtfully. She had managed to win the approval of the Londoners. Hugh had been talking about that the other day. He had said she had always been careful never to do anything which might lose that respect.

  ‘It is a matter I should have to consider,’ he said.

  Oh yes, she thought, ask Master Hugh whether he will allow your Queen to visit her brother.

  Her spirits dropped. She might have been able to delude Edward. Hugh le Despenser was another matter. In spite of the fact that he allowed his acquisitive nature to bring him more and more unpopularity every week, he was shrewd. He could surely not have connected her with Mortimer’s escape. She had been very careful about Mortimer. She had not written to him at all. That would have been too dangerous even though she had her faithful friends whom she could trust to deliver important letters. She had been afraid of putting him in danger. No, Hugh le Despenser could not know of the relationship between her and Mortimer.

  There was nothing to be done but let Edward consult with his dear Hugh.

  Meanwhile she must pray that she could get that permission to leave. It would be so much more satisfactory than attempting to escape, for they were not quite ready yet to come out into the open.

  * * *

  Hugh considered the matter.

  ‘So she wishes to go to her brother?’

  ‘That is what she said. She would mediate for better relations between us.

  This treaty my brother has made is disastrous for us.’

  Hugh was silent and Edward went on, ‘She has proved herself in the past to have a certain grasp of affairs. I believe too that her brother is fond of her. He might listen to her.’

  ‘He is going to insist on your going out to do homage to him.’

  ‘I shall not go.’

  ‘It could mean trouble if you don’t.’

  ‘That’s why I thought it would be a good idea to let Isabella go and see what she can make of things. I am sure she is eager to impress us.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hugh. ‘She has changed of late. She has become resigned.

  There was a time when I thought there was a smouldering lioness inside her, waiting to strike. Now, she has changed.’

  ‘It was having the children. She dotes on young Edward you know.’

  Hugh nodded. ‘Let her go then. I see no harm in it.’

  ‘She shall go,’ replied Edward.

  When Isabella heard the news she could scarcely believe her good fortune.

  She lost no time in setting out for France.

  * * *

  She could scarcely restrain her exultation as she made her rapid preparations. The scheming of years was coming to its climax. How clever she had been! How wise to act so discreetly through the years! Now she had her son, her little Edward― not so little, old enough to be crowned King, with hands to guide him― hers and Mortimer’s.

  Oh gentle Mortimer, soon to be with him, to embrace him, to lie at his side, to make love, to make plans.

  Nothing must go wrong now.

  May was a beautiful month with the trees in bloom and the birds mad with joy— a manifestation of her own feelings. This was the springtime of her life— although she was twenty-nine years of age. It was a beginning, and twenty-nine was not old. A little mature perhaps but one needed maturity to plan carefully. She was inclined to think that everything was set fair.

  Her company consisted only of Lord John Cromwell and four knights, apart from her personal attendants. The wind was with them and as she stepped onto French soil she could not restrain her expressions of joy. Lord John remarked that a love of one’s native land was something which never left one. And she allowed him to think that this was the reason for her exultation. If he but knew, her thoughts were in England― but not England as it was today ruled by an effete King and his minion.

  She was happy. Soon she would be with Mortimer.

  It was sooner than she had dared hope, for he had heard of her arrival and came in haste to greet her.

  He bowed low. He must not show undue familiarity before the company, but in his eyes she saw all she wished to know.

  ‘My love,’ he whispered as he bowed before her. ‘So long it has seemed.’

  ‘At last I am here.’

  Then he was saying that he had heard of her arrival and had come to escort her to her brother’s court in Paris.

  Mortimer had arranged for them to stay the night at a château put at her disposal by her cousin Robert d’Artois who had heard a great deal of her humiliation at the hands of her husband and had been incensed that a daughter of the royal house of France should be so treated.

  As they rode along Mortimer talked to her of his adventures since he had left England. He had found favour with her brother the King, which was perhaps not surprising for French Kings were always ready to favour the enemies of the Kings of England. He had told Charles a great deal about the influence Hugh le Despenser wielded over the King and naturally Charles, seeing clearly Edward’s folly, was not displeased about that.

  ‘I am happy to say,’ said Mortimer, ‘that the King your brother has shown nothing but friendship towards me.’ He bent his head and whispered.

  ‘Tonight― It must be tonight.’

  And she answered, ‘Tonight.’

  When they arrived at the château her cousin was eager to give her a royal welcome. He made it clear that he was very impressed by her beauty. She felt that she had come to life, recognized for what she had always known she was, a charming and desirable woman.

  Lord John Cromwell was a little uneasy about what he called Mortimer’s undue familiarity. ‘He was, my lady, the King’s prisoner,’ he explained to Isabella. ‘Now he is an exile. If he were to return to England he would lose his head.’

  ‘True enough, my lord,’ answered Isabella and appeared to reflect. ‘But it seems to me that I am on a difficult mission. I have to get good terms for my husband from my brother and if Mortimer speaks truth he is on friendly terms with Charles. I shall need all the friends I can get. It would not be wise to alienate Mortimer.’

  Lord John agreed with this. ‘But I would not trust him too far if I were you, my lady, if you will forgive my mentioning the matter.’

  ‘You
are forgiven, Lord John. I know that you are faithful to me and to the King.’

  ‘The Mortimers were always a wild family, my lady. They ruled the Marcher land and it is in them to rule.’

  ‘I agree with you. Trust me, I shall be careful.’

  How she laughed when that night she lay in Mortimer’s arms.

  The reunion had been one of complete satisfaction. The fact that it had been planned with care gave it an added delight. They talked in whispers through the night for before dawn he must be gone. It would never do for any to guess at this point that she had come to France to join her lover.

  ‘I shall never go back without you,’ she told him.

  ‘When we go back it will be with an army. We shall succeed.’

  ‘Of course we shall succeed.’

  ‘Gentle Mortimer, it must be so. You and I together and Edward with us― my young Edward. We must find a way of getting him here.’

  ‘How does he feel about his father?’

  ‘Bewildered. He is but a boy. But a clever one― one who knows his destiny. He hears gossip of Hugh le Despenser. It disturbs him.’

  ‘Oh, my love― my love,’ cried Mortimer. ‘What a happy day when I was sent to the Tower!’

  ‘In the gardens that day I knew I had been waiting for you all my life.’

  ‘None ever loved as we do.’

  ‘And none ever planned such a great project as they lay in their bed of love.’

  ‘How long till dawn? I would I could hold back time.’

  ‘The future is for us, my love.’

  ‘Ah,’ he answered, ‘for us.’

  ‘The day will come,’ she said, ‘when you will not have to creep away before the first streaks of light appear in the sky.’

  He wondered then if she meant she would marry him. Could the Queen of England marry a Mortimer? He had a wife. She had a husband. But such obstacles could be removed.

  Ambition. Love. How glorious when these two walked together. To make love! To make plans! Life was good. Never had either of them dreamed of such bliss as life now offered them.

  ‘Would we could stay like this for ever,’ said Mortimer.